


It's Time To Part

by billspilledquill



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: A Lot Of Book Ref, F/M, Gen, It's All Nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billspilledquill/pseuds/billspilledquill
Summary: When she met Hamilton's eyes, seemingly fond of what he was seeing, she suddenly felt exposed, as if the ocean was the reason of her fall, not the sun itself. Her dress was already in that color, of the despair type. If you look forward into the sky, it can reflect into her eyes and her dress.She cried that day, and it was be a nice thing to know that crying can be considered both, happiness or helplessness. If someone says that this can't be felt at the same time, she begged to differ.





	It's Time To Part

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dach/gifts).



> I have to thank you for your wonderful + prefect fic so plz enjoy this crap!!!!!!
> 
> (What is spanish)

She was writing Hamilton letters.

She can see her dear sister, under the dim light, the scribbled sound along with slight movements of the quill and her chuckle each time she received one.

It had warm her heart and soon after a wave of dizziness surrounded her as she kept herself quiet in her room, along her muffled sobs and aching heart.

Her sister was kind-hearted, she knew. She had no doubt that her sister would led Hamilton to her if she ever knew about it. Maybe that was why she kept it for herself this long, or maybe it was because saying it aloud would be too much, too loud to be true.

Heart and heart can't connect, it was connections that led to heart and heart. To make that connection, it need needles and truth, and she can't afford such a price.

She still remembered the last time she had that luxury to do it. It was at the ball, when she didn't see her sister's face, bright and flushed with almost blinding confidence that this boy would be hers, that it should be hers. For a terrifying moment, she almost wanted to tell him that _he is mine mine —mine_ — and just go on talk to him, but Hamilton's eyes were on her, flirting and wanting, and her sister was staring back, with the same intensity that made this room felt small, too small for her to fit in.

At this moment she felt her sister was the spotlight, somehow she was sure she had always been one, it was just that she never thought about it.

She just grabbed her sister's arm, and whispered, with a dry laugh, but a laugh anyway, "So this boy is yours?" She pointed at Hamilton, and her sister shoved her playfully with a flushed face, "Well—"

She didn't continue, but to make her speechless already made everything clear.

"I am about to change your life."

The sound of the wedding cloches made her fearfully aware that time had come to made her account for the day, somehow, she just sat there, let the feeling of thirteen cloches ( _she head thirteen strikes but maybe it was fourteen_ ) washed her away, she stood, declaring something she can't really hear, and went to her sister, embraced her like an Icarus reaching to the sun.

When she met Hamilton's eyes, seemingly fond of what he was seeing, she suddenly felt exposed, as if the ocean was the reason of her fall, not the sun itself. Her dress was already in that color, of the despair type. If you look forward into the sky, it can reflect into her eyes and her dress.

She cried that day, and it should be a nice thing to know that crying can be considered both, happiness or helplessness. If someone says that this can't be felt at the same time, she begged to differ.

 

  

 

 

They had children.

Between correspondences and letters that should be what shall be between sister-in-law and sisters. She married a man of wealth. He was kind, and it was fine. Women were destined to be married, like an unnamed rule under the new era. She liked family and stayed as a housewife for the rest of her life and he was fine with it.

 _Eliza_. She said quietly in her heart. _Eliza, Eliza, Eliza—_

(She never liked her name, but _this_. This name was different. Her sister wrote about her child Eliza, Eliza Hamilton. About how she walked, how she was starting to learn Hebrew because her Father was making lessons with her, how—

Eliza Schuyler Hamilton and Eliza Hamilton. It felt different, and it should be different, they were two different people.

The thought hurt.)

 

 

 

She burned the Reynolds Pamphlet for her sister. For herself.

 

 

 

Her sister once told her about her oldest son wanting to duel a certain gentleman to protect his Father's honor, but that she found and talk him out of it. The letters were scrabbled together and the papers were drained, and she sighed with relief, knowing that it eventually went well.

She wondered what Hamilton had said, but she was sure that he was in the same opinion as his wife.

 

 

 

 

It was with a heavy downpour of sunlight when she stepped beside her sister's gravestone. The ground felt too soft that she might fell. She felt old, she _was_ old. Her eyes felt giddy as she watched the sun slowly rose over her New York City.

"You know," she started, not knowing where to start, "I love Alexander since the beginning." It was odd that she felt relieved that her sister didn't answer, "I have think more than once to steel him away from you."

A pause and she kept herself on the ground and tried not to kneel down for forgiveness, "I am sorry."

"I am sorry," she repeated, not really want to say anything else, "I am sorry."

His husband died two years ago, she felt sorrow, but not as much when she watched her sister's face crumbled as Hamilton's hand hold unto hers, cold and really horribly, _wrongfully_ cold.

"I am sorry Angelica," she hadn't use her whole name for such a long time that her throat felt dry, she felt tears finally daring to gather in her eyes but not enough to let them down. This was never enough. "I am so sorry, I am so—"

"Oh," she stopped mid-sentence, remembering something, "can I show you what I am proudest of?"

She waited a bit, foolishly expecting an answer from the swirling wind. All she got was the sound of the Church bells and she suddenly knew that she must hear it wrong that night, it can't be more than twelve strikes along the way.

She smiled, putting her hand on the cold gravestone, but not enough to defeat the freezing touch of Hamilton's hands, "I was there when you most need me."

She continued, wiping tears away so that she can see her sister's name, craved magnificently onto the stone, Angelica Schuyler Hamilton, "I was there at Alexander's death, I was there at your two children's death, I was there at yours."

"I was there," she insisted, as if her sister didn't believe her, "I was always by your side, but then you are dead."

She wasn't blaming her, but dead _remained_ dead. And so it was time to part.

She started to sang with her old voice as she slowly stepped out of the cemetery, the song they used to sing together as children, as friends, as sisters. (As _life_.)

" _Angelica_..", it sounded like a question, " _Eliza_...", it sounded like a wonder, " _And Peggy,_ " it sounded like a memory.

She imagined walking downtown around and around, waving around and around, and living like this forever. But it was time to part, and she almost never had a say on anything, including this.

Discrimination brought more life than the reverse. Backslid into the world of square, she sang, " _The Schuyler sisters.._."

And this time, it sounded like an answer.

**Author's Note:**

> What if Eliza was the one who know that Angelica loves Ham first? It was the idea that made this ficlet. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
